Back when I was in high school, I went to the “banquet” at my boyfriend’s high school. He went to a Baptist school, so they did not have a prom, just that banquet. He failed to tell me about the dress code, and although my dress was perfectly modest, it was also the lowest cut in the room. All of the other girls had high necked gowns on. Thankfully, this was the 80s, so they only looked a little dorky. When we went to my prom the next year, my dress was lower cut than the year before, but still modest by today’s standards. Back then, though, it was a little shocking.

But, that was the 80s, when people wore layered Izods and prairie skirts and crop tops were pretty much only for football players.

Today’s prom dresses are decidedly sexier. I’m not saying I always approve, but most of the girls manage to remain decent. I’ve not seen anything so far that has made me want to rant and rave.

Until now.

The news wires are carrying the story of Houston’s Marche Taylor and her prom dress. Why is this making national news? Because Taylor wore a slutty, barely-there dress of her own design and was told by officials she could not enter the prom due to violations of their dress code. The argument that ensued got so heated that the police had to be called in to lead Taylor was in handcuffs.

When asked how she feels about her dress now, Taylor said, “I actually like the dress. Everybody else likes my dress.”

 

No, not really. I don’t like your dress. School officials did not like your dress. In fact, I am willing to bet money that most of the mothers of the world are letting out a collective sigh of relief that their own daughters did not leave the house is something so tacky and lacking in self respect. Most websites are simply calling the dress skimpy, but I call it like I see it and that little thing was purely slutty.

Taylor is 17, so I am assuming that somewhere out there is a parent who actually let her leave the house dressed like a stripper. In the very least, there are adults in her life that taught her the daily mores that led her to believe that showing up at a school function with a yard and a half of fabric barely clinging to her body is OK. That, my friends, is a sad narrative about the state of parenting in the United States.